


Helpless (As Long as I'm Alive)

by BG_Redflor



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: (Previous) Abusive Home Setting, Alex is too adorable, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is smitten, Charles wants to help, Childhood Trauma, Erik is a Sweetheart, Established Relationship, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BG_Redflor/pseuds/BG_Redflor
Summary: Charles, in all honesty, never really understood how he ended up in this kind of situation.To be a tad bit more specific, he does not know how he ended up with a weeping toddler no older than three or four, skinny and positively helpless after hours of hunger pain and exhaustion. He does a little sweep and skim of the boy’s mind and finds out that his name is Alex (and it suited him quite well).





	1. Looked into your Eyes & the Sky's the Limit

Although tea is usually considered as a good idea from time to, Charles never forgets his morning coffee before seven. Up before his bedmate, he relishes a warm steaming mug of good black caffeine and maybe a nice moment of silence before he rides into the loud, bustling city that calls for him.

He cushions himself into one of the seats of the dining table, facing the modern, metallic kitchen (probably the only room that Charles’ is not allowed in due to culinary—and safety—reasons) and adjacent to their living room. 

He pops up his laptop for to check for a few email messages—the usually university updates, old college friends looking for another reunion, the _Mutants & Humans as One _organization agenda for the week, etcetera, etcetera—right up until his husband bounces out of their bedroom, primped and ready for work.

“Had a good night sleep, darling?” Charles purrs in contentment as feels his husband’s sleek mind brush up against his own’s. Clothed arms wrap around his slim waist, and a soft kiss brushes against his temple when he notices that Erik seems to be ready for the day an hour early.

“After last night? _Quite._ Even after five years of being together, you still seem to have that energy that you procured during college.” He steals Charles’ precious mug of black coffee and takes a long sip, he smirks when he sees Charles frown.

“ _Stop,_ oh God, we do not talk about my college exploits. _You promised!_ ” He groans miserably, “It’s a miracle as to why I haven’t developed some kind of communicable diseases during that time,” 

Erik could only laugh back, his chuckles sounding like heavy bells in church. Charles pouts and steals back his mug from him, telepathically sending a teasing, _“Get your own mug!”_

Once Charles gets back his good cup, he asks Erik, “And why are you up so early? As far as I’m concerned, your work doesn’t start ‘till eight.”

Erik just smiles knowingly, “Figured I might get an early start of the day—”

Charles gives him a look that clearly says he was not buying it. “Since when did you enjoy early mornings with your minions.”

Erik’s laugh resonates around the kitchen, “Now Charles, I quite enjoy the company of _some_ of my minions.” 

Charles frowns, _“I refuse to believe that. You are only kind to me.”_

“And Raven as well,” he says aloud instead of sending the thought to him telepathically. “Now, I am in love with you but Raven does have the capability to murder me.”

Charles hummed, “Now tell me the real reason as to why you’re awake at seven.”

Erik smirks, “Not telling.”

**-**

An hour after Erik’s departure, and maybe an hour after failing to convince Erik to enjoy the morning with him and bask in the post-coital-morning-after-sex, Charles wraps up his morning routine to prepare for his first class.

While stuffing thick combined papers in his laptop bag and looking for the pens that he must’ve lost again, he takes time to appreciate the New York home that he and his husband just purchased a month ago. The two-bedroom apartment boasted metal detailing that wrapped around the inside of the house. Silver railings floated over the alloy staircase and glass paneling. Dark brown metal frames adorned the large windows that absorbed the sunlight and reflected the New York city lights—something that Erik contributed a week after moving here.

On top of all the metal structures and alloy elements that trim their quaint (but _fancy as hell_ —as Raven continuously reminds him) apartment, Charles has always preferred the warm wood paneling that spreads all over their floor. A brown brick wall stretches right next to his two wooden bookshelves that homes both his and Erik’s books.

When Charles first considered this apartment, he fell in love instantly. For some reason, this place reminded him of Erik and him. The sharp metal frames and details blends in perfectly with the soft warm wooden panels and the several timber furniture (although Erik preferred of course, metal furniture—it took them a while before they finally settled on the furniture).

It was not his home in Westchester—grand, extravagant, filled with pricey furniture and overpriced paintings that would probably just rot in there—the mansion was lonely, filled with bad memories and dark childhood thoughts. In here he was welcomed with bright sunshine, and the buzzing noises of good people, and the warm flooding of good academics, and of course there was Erik.

In here, he was home.

Taking one last look before stepping out of their door, Charles procures a silly thought.

“Maybe we should get a dog,” he says thoughtfully, “or maybe a cat. Something to brighten up the place more.”

He closes the door behind him and locks it.

-

As far as three-year-olds go, little Alex isn’t particularly good at trying to maneuver his way around his city. He clutches a small blue blanket, tattered and torn in a few sides, but soft and cottony, reminding him of the bed that he sleeps in.

Or rather, the bed that he _used to_ sleep in.

He doesn’t really know where he is right now, and he doesn’t understand why he’s lost. He cannot cry, because his old father tells him that crying babies _tears up people’s eardrums_ or something like that. So he wanders, for a long three or four days, he spends his days wandering the noisy streets of New York city.

His little toddler brain doesn’t remember what happens before he started roaming the busy streets, all he knows is that his old father and his old mother left him in their broken-down apartment, and he started eating all the candy he can before he passes out in sugar rush and stomach ache. The neighbors, the ones with the annoying parrot that chirps at him loudly whenever he passes, found him half-asleep and dirty.

Then after that there were too many people, too many that talked about where his parents were and why he was left alone for a long time, and he couldn’t just handle any more of the tension that vibrates in the room.

So, when they all occupy the kitchen, and while he slumps in the living room couch, he conjures up a plan.

He gathers up his threadbare baby blue blanket and his frayed green cap that his old mother tossed on his head one day to protect him from the rain, and runs out the door.

He’s always wanted to be an explorer anyway, so here he is.

He’s hungry and tired, worn out from all the walking and running. He goes left, right; he runs to this street and then this street, eventually he ends up where he is now. He is exhausted, and he might be sick as well, but he knows he cannot stop running.

He finds another dark alley and slumps against the wall that’s closest to the sunlight. He reminds himself to be brave, and to stop being afraid of these things or else old father will get mad.

Except, his old father and mother isn’t around anymore, and he is only just three years old.

-

After a thorough lecture from his two INTGEN1 class and an utterly arduous quiz that he distributed to his EMBRYON class, he stifles a yawn as he slumps into his office chair.

It has been a long morning, and an even longer week (although it was only Tuesday), and he can’t help but feel exhausted already. With the moving, the finals coming up next month, and his dissertation that creeps up to him constantly every time he turns on his laptop, he realizes he needed a lengthy break. Maybe something warm to fill his senses, hopefully something soothing to get the afternoon going. The hours between twelve and one are notorious for making him even drained than usual.

“Darwin!” He calls out from the inside of his quaint office, “I could use a good cup of tea right now, would you recommend a place?”

Armando walks in with a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in another, “I’d say Starbucks, but of—”

“Oh dear God, _no,_ ” he chokes on the last word, while stealing the stack of paper from Armando’s hand, “I asked them for a good cup of Earl Grey and they give me an wryly excuse of tea with mass load of honey! And to think I paid for that,”

Darwin laughs nevertheless, placing his steaming mug of (now half-empty) coffee on the pristine desk of his professor. “Yeah well, Starbucks was always known for their coffee anyway.”

Charles scoffs again, “Mhmm, oh yes that sad excuse for a strained cup of coffee beans mixed with far too much dairy and sugar,”

“ _But_ , there is a good café downtown,” he ignores his professor’s insult (he happens to enjoy Starbucks coffee), “They have good pastries, good books, nice crowd and all that. They specialize in teas too, imports it from different places around the world.”

Charles perked up, _books?_ “Sounds promising, where is it then?”

Darwin looks up and shrugs, “Just down 113th Street, the name is _Teaser Café,_ odd name but it's a nice place. Kinda reminds you of a sit down bookstore with good company,”

“Sounds interesting,” Charles stands from his desk, “Finally, something good to visit to during these trying times. Well, looks like my one-to-three will be spent there.” He claims all the papers that Darwin has gathered for him (mostly freshmen essays that was supposed to be due last Thursday but bless Professor Xavier’s heart) as well as his third revision draft for his dissertation, and shoves it all up in his sleek blue laptop bag.

“Sure prof,” he says patiently as he grabs another piece of paper from his TA desk, “by the way, here’s the official list of the VIPs that should be able to attend your Mutant Genetics seminar this Saturday. They’ll probably be occupying the first two rows,”

Charles hastily grasps the paper from Darwin’s hands, not bothering to read over the names, “I see, thank you Darwin. Any people I’m familiar with?”

Darwin shrugs again, “Just the usual; McTaggert, Potts, Stryker, etcetera,” he quietly sips his last gulp of coffee before he perks up, “Oh, and there’s a new guy too, name’s Shaw. Apparently he works in a university in the Czech Republic and Stryker invited him to come to your seminar.”

Charles tries to recall any name that should do with Shaw, but none comes up. “Stryker then? That doesn’t sound like him at all, he absolutely detests all my talks.” The memory of Stryker trying to contradict every one of his statements and claims during his _Mutant Integration_ Seminar last July is still very fresh in his mind, thankfully, his students and Erik were very determined to correct Stryker's racist opinions. He sighs, briefly thinking that another controversial scene might happen again this Saturday.  

Charles looks up to him expectantly, “Do you have an idea as to why these two might want to come?”

“Not sure, but word in the Sciences department says they're working on a research paper,” Darwin says, “However I don't know how Stryker would want to work with him, seeing that Shaw is a mutant,” _Mutant?_ That is definitely odd, Stryker has been very vocal about his hatred to mutants, to powerful ones like Charles especially.

Charles clears his throat, “Right, thank you Darwin for these.” He replies cheerfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow at nine for your GENETIC class, we’ll need to talk about that thesis of yours.”

“Of course prof, anytime,” he smiles graciously, “and if I could get any more information on this Shaw guy, I’ll email you the facts.”

-

Alex wakes up from his sunken slumber when a particularly loud car barks their horn in front of another equally loud car. He slumps further into the alley, not wanting to get involved with whatever was happening out there.

He leans into a wall that is probably connected to a café, he knows this. He smells a bit of the bitter black drink that his old father used to drown aside from the tall bottles of fizzy alcoholic beverages. He smells the pastries that his mother used to tell him _not to eat because you’ll get fat as hell_ , but the waitresses from the café always sneaks him a cookie or two and an all-knowing smile.

His stomach grumbles as he tries to remember the last time he ate, and he knows that it has been a long time since he’s had a bite of real food.

Alex stumbles out of the dirty alley and stares at the café sign, a small stand says words and squiggles that he can’t really read, and a doodle of small mug that sits on top of a pile of books.

He clutches the blanket draped on his stomach as it growls again, he whines faintly; he really is hungry.

He turns his back from the café and tries to avoid the smell of warm food as the glass doors of the restaurant opens widely, and he starts moving.

“Well, hello there!” He turns back around and he sees a man with floppy brown hair and red lips, “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Alex, with his all pent-up frustration and his heavy hunger, cries.

-

Charles, in all honesty, never really understood how he ended up in this kind of situation.

To be a tad bit more specific, he does not know how he ended up with a weeping toddler no older than three or four, skinny and positively helpless after hours of hunger pain and exhaustion. He does a little sweep and skim of the boy’s mind and finds out that his name was _Alex_ (and it suited him quite well). His little runaway adventure is because of his parents quietly abandoning him in the middle of the night, not leaving a note or a memo for anyone to see. Charles suspected that the parents were escaping the hardships of living in the big city and trying to find a better life for _themselves_ and not for their son.

He quickly glides over Alex’s mind again and sees that his mind was very much a child’s mind. Children’s brains are quite different from adults. Theirs are cluttered and chaotic, often inconsistent, but filled with bright and vivacious colors and images of whatever they found interesting. Aside from that, children’s minds were pure, honest, and good, something a telepath absolutely adores in children. Adults’ minds stretched over a sharp wounding path of cold memories and warm memories, more often cold ones, organized into what might look like an office desk.

Placing two fingers on the side of the boy’s temple, and a fragile kiss on his rosy cheeks, he sends to him an air of happiness and comfort, wrapping around his mind like a hug. Alex accepts and embraces the feeling gracefully; his broken whines and whimpers turn into coos of utter contentment, snuggling into the warm cotton of Charles’ cardigan. Charles can’t help but smile.

He carries the boy into the café, careful not to jostle his delicate state. From what Charles can tell, he seems to be on the verge of falling asleep and staying awake.

“Are you hungry, Alex?” Charles murmurs into the crown of blond hair, “Would you like something to eat?”

Alex hesitates, but he lifts his head to look up to the odd man that gave him a sense of security. He nods, staring up into the bright blues of Charles’ eyes, like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

 _“Oh dear, I might be smitten,”_ Charles melts as he looks into the steel blue eyes and the bright, innocent face and suddenly he sees Erik. “All right! You could probably do with something a little warm and liquid, maybe a cookie to pair with that,”

Alex perks up at the sound of hearing the word cookie, and grants him a shy smile. Charles gulps,  _“ Oh Lord, I **am** smitten.”_

He steps into the counter area and orders a small mug of steaming hot milk, a cup of fresh Darjeeling First Flush black tea, and an order of three cookies to go. In some way, he praises that he has no afternoon classes for Tuesday. He grabs the paper bag that the barista holds out for him and hands over the cash and a friendly smile.

The professor carefully balances both the boy and the paper bag, stepping out the café slowly to not drop any of the contents in his arms. He stands in front of his car, a sleek and silver Mercedes C-Class, and shuffles his pocket for the keys.

He opens the door in front to place a seemingly weakened Alex on his car seat, peacefully sleeping but still clutching the torn baby blue blanket. Charles can’t help but place a ghost of a kiss on his forehead, sending another array of sweet dreams and warmth.

Charles sighs to himself as he sits on the driver’s seat of the car, “A dog and a cat is much easier to explain than a toddler.” He says to himself nervously, not knowing how his husband would even think about his newfound companion.  _How am I supposed to tell Erik?_ He eyes the small and feeble blond all curled up like a kitten. He runs a hand over the soft golden locks, and cups a chubby pink cheek.

He smiles softly, _“But then again, you won’t be so bad, would you?”_

 


	2. You Will Never Find Someone as Patient or as Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finds himself usually in the most unusual positions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Charles and Erik's New York Loft](http://myfancyhouse.com/2015/04/16/tribeca-loft-in-new-york-usa/). It's a two bedroom loft, though I imagine it to be less extravagant than the one in the link. The second floor does have a garden balcony, but it also includes the two bedrooms and a bath connected to the master bedroom. And of course, Charles' and Erik's beloved book collection.

Erik usually considers himself as patient, for most of the time. And of that time, generally more for his husband, someone who is the absolute abysmal opposite of Erik. He sees Charles as a far too innocent man; easily trusting, so charming and friendly that it scares him to send him off outside the _real_ world.

The real world that Erik himself has faced far too many times.

He emits a long, deep audible breath into his third cup of coffee for the day. Unlike his Charles, coffee to Erik is what Charles considers as his tea; somewhat of a daily necessity. He gulps in the scalding liquid as if it were nothing and feels the metal hands of the clock that is perched at the wall behind his desk, _3:21PM. Still too goddamn early._

On a good day, Erik hops out of his office at around five ‘o clock. Being the head engineer manager executive (seemingly lengthy and redundant title, but Erik does have the skills to boast it as he damn well pleases), it did have its benefits aside from the title. Throughout the company, Erik is known to almost never lose his composure—almost.

There were two instances where he did lose almost a pound of his dignity, both of which he’s not very proud of. The first instance was his wedding (completely understandable, it was his _first_ ), there was an issue with the Justice of the Peace being thirty minutes late and a man that apparently claimed to be Charles’ ex-boyfriend (Charles swears on his two doctorates that he’s never seen this man before in his life) that apparently sneaked in during the reception.

The second being a much more intense one, with his mother being rushed to the hospital during a god-awful time (he didn’t even know how people could wake up before 2AM) and he started spewing a chain line of German curses and Jewish prayers (he didn’t practice the religion very often, but he was desperate).

To easily put things, most of the time, Charles puts him on edge. Charles is his very lovable partner; so very sweet and cheeky, often witty, and charming. Almost anyone could fall for those baby blues, and that scares Erik, not because of the number of creeps that could potentially destroy his husband’s good heart, but because of his husband’s _too-good_ heart.

When Charles had sent him a text not too long ago, telling Erik to expect a _surprise at home_ and  following up with a reminder saying _not to worry_ , Erik could only sigh (although the text could mean _another thing_ but he remembers Charles is not the type to sext him during office hours).

He takes a sip of his black coffee and groans, _as long as it’s not a fucking animal he picks up from those shelters, I would probably be fine._

-

Charles could only squeal in delight as he watches the very same boy that he picked up in a disgusting alleyway, happily eating his cookie that was too big for his hand and sipping the warm milk, purring like a very satisfied cat. He almost eats very politely, gently taking a bite of the sweet pastry and wiping his milk moustache. When he finishes, he prods a smile towards Charles that says _thank you._

Charles was not lying when he said he was smitten, but now it seems like he’s more in love with this boy as he places his hands on his lap and he gives a wide-eyed look around their plush apartment. He stays in his seat, one hand on his blue blanket, and another on the breakfast nook table.

“Do you like it here?” Charles says as he tries to coddle Alex back into his lap again. Alex blushes faintly, but gives a firm pout and nods his head slowly. Charles almost misses the way Alex looks at the door of the apartment, almost afraid of going out there again.

He lifts the lightweight boy from the seat (well, a seat and a few books layered on top so Alex can reach the table top) and places him on the couch. He turns on the TV, and switches to the channel full of kids’ shows and colorful images. Alex perks up and his eyes never leaves the screen, that’s when Charles decides to make a call.

He dials up the number he knows by heart and it rings twice before it gets picked up, _“Yes Charles?”_

“Raven! How is my most favorite sister?”

He hears a scoff at the end of the line, _“Alright back it up, are you in trouble? Are you in **jail?** What have you gotten yourself into?” _

Charles has the decency to sound offended, “I haven’t even told you anything yet,”

_“But I know you well enough,”_ she says cheekily, _“And even you can’t deny that.”_

Charles sighs, “Well, I picked up something after work?”

_“Is it a dog? Or a cat? Charles, you know I love you but you know how Erik hates strays—”_

“No!” Charles quickly responds, Alex is anything but a stray, and even if he was, he happened to be the most adorable stray in the world.  “No, Raven, no. It’s not an animal—per se—you see, I was about to go to this nice little café Darwin mention earlier—”

“That is not the topic at hand, Charles.”

“—but he was lost, and so very frightened, Raven! I found him wandering around 113th, just clutching his worn out baby blanket, and he was so afraid and hungry, I couldn’t deny him that—”

_“Wait, wait, wait—a **he**? Is it a **kid** you picked up Charles? Charles, are you insane?!” _ Charles pulls the phone away from his ear as Raven continues to shout over the phone. Alex turns his eyes away from the children’s show as he looks towards Charles with concern, _oh dear bless his little heart._

“I’m fine darling, go back to your show,” Alex obeys him easily, but he still eyes Charles warily.

The older man sighs and goes back to his conversation with his sister, “Raven, Raven… I’m fine, I’m fine. And no, he’s not going to kidnap me or lure me into an experimental chamber. Alex has absolutely no ill intentions towards me or anyone else, he is just a lost toddler.”

_“Alex?”_

“That’s his name, yes,” Charles smiles as if Raven can see it through the phone.

Raven hums, _“How do you know he’s safe? What if his parents – I mean, his parents could be…”_ Raven pauses for a while a draws a breath, “ _Unless of course his parents are gone?”_

“Unfortunately, they are not.” before his sister could hastily respond, he quickly adds, “They’re probably halfway across the country to cover up the fact that they had a son.”

_“Oh Charles, that’s terrible.”_ his sister replies softly, affection lacing in her voice. _“But I know you, are you even ready to adopt a child?”_

“No, not really,” Charles admits, “I haven’t even got a clue on how to raise him, but in fact, who really is ready for parenthood anyways? A child is very much different from growing a garden and such,”

_“I know, I know,”_ he almost hears the hesitation in her voice, _“It’s just... It’s a big step, you know? You’re still 26, and you just got married—not to mention Erik, who would probably lose his mind after all this.”_

“I’ll be fine— _we’ll_ be fine. Erik… He will fully understand the situation, I know it. He’s a good man,” Charles smiles softly, and his thoughts become infectious towards Alex who reluctantly smiles back at him

Raven blanches, faking a noise of vomit, _“The mood almost feels giddy now, your thoughts are infectious even across the phone.”_

“Oh hush, you know how I am when it comes to Erik,” Charles asserts defensively, his tone almost playful. “But anyhow, this is not the only reason as to why I called you.”

_“Oh, what is it then?”_

He looks at Alex, and gathers him on his lap. “Would you mind coming over and bringing us some baby formula? I have absolutely no idea on how to raise a toddler.”

-

Alex soon lost his interest in the children’s show, and became more fascinated in the place the nice man brought him too.

It looks nothing like the apartments that he used to live in. Apart from the fact that it was not well-maintained or properly fixed, it was also cold and lonely. He often heard shouting and yelling from his old mother and father late in the evenings, the annoying neighborhood parrot that would squawk right at dawn, and the loud city streets and brawls that happened right below his window.

It was not a place for a child to live in at all, but he often compromised. He found entertainment with himself; drawings and odd doodles behind the papers with formal writing, using three coloring crayons and a chewed-out pencil that needed sharpening. Sometimes, he’d go outside the dingy apartment to say hello to the puppies that walked pass him in the hallway, patting their fluffy heads.

But now he feels _at home._ The old apartment that could only be described as a beat-up prison cell was no longer part of where he is now.

He could live with this. A kitchen stocked with good food and fondness, a dining table fit for four, and a couch with a television set twice as big as his old one. And the _books!_ He could see bookshelves filled with paperbacks and old novels and tomes of heavy writing.

Alex has found a friend in books, even years before he could learn how to talk. He remembers the fond memories of Mrs. Reisenhower’s soft voice as she reads books that are probably even older than her, and Snuffles the cat curling at his lap while he listens to the smooth and silky words he could barely understand.

Mrs. Reisenhower was the only woman that loved him well enough, even though he did meet her Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. She was kind, and she had a gentle heart, and every time she spoke to Alex, she only spoke to her in doting tones, patting his head like she would stroke Snuffles’ soft fur.

The man smiles at him gently, as if reading his thoughts, “I could read those books for you if you like?”

Alex’s face scrunches up in thought, _every single one of them?_

The odd British man could only laugh in delight, “We have the rest of our lives, darling.”

-

Charles is halfway through the first few pages of Pablo Neruda’s _On the Blue Shores of Silence,_ when Alex falls asleep on his lap; no snoring, no mumbling, just quiet.

He spoke very softly, lilting his voice into a calming tone. After a few pages or so, Alex’s mind lulls into what could only be described as deep sleep. He starts to dream vividly, once again the dance of colors leapt across his dreams in joy. Charles notes, that this dream has not appeared recently, as Alex used to dream in silence, and in the darkness.

He continues reading, however, knowing that his voice soothes Alex and his own chaotic mind. He couldn’t help but become a bit frantic, pondering over Raven’s words here and there. He is used to being so rational, so very organized with everything that he has done in his life—planning his future even before he started schooling. But this? A child, a very lost child is a dart that came from nowhere. He is only twenty-six, so very young and so many things to accomplish, having a child would be a heavy burden.

But this child, is only a _child._ Charles knows the burden of being parentless, the burden of having no shelter to come home to and no food to fill an empty stomach. He couldn’t help but imagine Alex being tossed around from foster home to foster home, with adoptive parents that barely acknowledge him, with caretakers that only see him as a serial number on a piece of paper.

Charles couldn’t swallow the very nerve-wracking chill of leaving Alex in the cold after introducing him into a warm home.

He shudders, the hand stroking the toddler’s hair and the voice reading to him stops for a moment. Alex stirs a bit, almost sensing the older man’s fears and anxiety.

“Shhh, love, I’m sorry I stopped,” he cradles the child’s small body against his medium frame, easily picking him up from his vertical position.

He begins to read aloud again, _“It seems a small thing for a young man, to have come here to live with his own fire; nevertheless, the pulse that rose and fell in its abyss, the crackling of the blue cold, the gradual wearing away of the star…”_

A few moments later, Charles and Alex falls into a resolute sleep.

-

After what seemed like half an hour, the two starts to stir awake when they hear a banging on the door. “It’s open Raven, come in!”

Alex, sensing the presence of another stranger, starts to cower, and hide his face in Charles’ cardigan. Starting to feel the waves of fear from the younger boy, Charles sends him a ripple of comfort and ease, slightly calming the toddler.

The door bursts open and a woman with bright blue complexion and fiery red hair gasps. She drops the numerous bags on the floor and walks up to Alex, gushing over him enthusiastically.

“Glad to see you’re wearing clothes this time, sister dear.” Charles cheekily greets him.

“Shut up, Charles,” her words only hold a tone of playfulness, but her eyes never leave the toddler. “Is this him? Oh my God, you did not tell me how _absolutely adorable_ he looks!”

“We were only on the phone, how could I—”

Raven ignores him, and turns to Alex. “Hello there! My name is Aunt Raven, and I’ll be spoiling you until you turn twenty! Yes, I am!”

The small boy smiles gently, holding a hand out to softly touch the scales protruding around Raven’s body. When it ripples, he looks at her with awe.

Raven gasps again, this time not holding herself back. “Charles, can I hold him? _Please?”_

Charles laughs soundly, “Of course, of course. Don’t break him, he’s too precious to me.”

His sister grasps Alex by the armpits and lifts him up, producing a delightful peal of laughter from Alex. Raven places him on her one arm and waist, and quickly rushes to grab the bag full of toys that she had bought for him earlier.

In that short amount of time, Alex simply adores Raven (though not as much as he adored the British man or _Charles_ as he had heard Raven call the man earlier). He quickly learns to appreciate being spoiled by the funny and charming blue woman, even more so since she equally prefers spoiling him.

Raven plays with him well enough to emit loud giggles and chuckles, though still no words from the boy.

“Can he speak, Charles?” She says after she applauds Alex for knocking down a tower of blocks.

“Unfortunately, I have not heard a word from him,” he sighs, tenderly looking over the toddler, “My guess is that due to his parents’ neglect, his speech pattern is delayed and can only think in vivid thoughts.”

“Awww,” her sister turns back to Alex and pinches his rosy cheeks, “Looks like you take after your daddy after all, do you?”

Charles snorts, “I was hardly a quiet child when I was younger, Raven. Private yes, but—”

“Not the _you_ daddy,” she snorts back at him, cutting him off, “I meant Alex’s _other_ daddy.”

-

“What are in these bags, Raven? I told you to buy baby formula, _not the whole store!”_

The younger adult scoffs him off, “I _panicked,_ Charles. It’s not every day you suddenly get phone-called by your step-brother to go buy baby items. I mean, who knew there were so many types of diapers?”

Charles sighs, at least his sister supports his decision to take in a child, he thinks cheerfully. He peels into one of the four bags that Raven has dumped into his apartment and starts analyzing the baby formula and toddler diapers that come with it.

The other bags contain toys, children’s books—and even clothes; a lone manual on _How to Care for your Hyperactive Baby Boy_ stares right back at him as he considers the bag. Suddenly, Charles is overcome with a wave of nervousness.

“Hey Charles,” Raven begins to call his attention, “Is it me or does Alex look a _little_ bit like Erik? Maybe it’s the eyes? Or the frown? Let’s just hope to all the gods up there that you never inherit his smile, _Jesus_ that would be a nightmare…”

With no response from Charles, and only the murmur of Alex’s childish laughter to cater in the background, Raven walks over to his older brother. Almost as if she were the one telepathically reading his mind, she wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses the side of his.

The older man lowers his face in guilt, “What if I’m not ready?”

Raven could only look at him in silence, her eyes alight with concern.

He sighs again, for the nth time that day, “Who am I kidding? I could barely even take care of myself! I couldn’t handle a child, a _three-year-old_ for Christ’s sake! But—but, I couldn’t leave him out there! Just look at his face, he’s far too young to be abandoned just like that!”

Charles continues to mumble on and on, his never-ending speech of worry keeps repeating redundantly.

“Charles,” Raven stops him from talking a mile a minute, “You raised me though.”

Charles pauses, and smiles a bit; his nerves starting to wash away. “Right… And you turned out wonderfully.” _Mutant and proud,_ he remembers her bravely roaring the statement in the streets.

“Even back then, I wasn’t full ready to raise you—I was only 10,” he continues.

Raven clutches him a little tighter, “Nobody really is.”

-

Erik finds himself usually in the most unusual positions.

Trust him when he says he wants to plan a surprise dinner for his darling husband—a good, rich bottle of aged wine, Michelin-star take-out meals from _Tim Ho Wan_ ( _that_ required pounding with a rock) because Charles absolutely insists that their pork barbeque dumplings are second best to Erik’s sex drive, and maybe a nice cuddle after dinner, that comes after the sex of course.

Whoever said Erik was not the man suited for romance, clearly did not know anything about the man.

But of course, Charles tended to be spontaneous. Out of the two, he would usually be the one to initiate a little change in their life; that _is_ how they ended up in the bustling city instead of the outer, lush county area that is Westchester. Erik admits that he was not really suited for a city with a crowd (it’s not that he hated people, it’s just that he detests majority of them), but Charles was very persistent and Erik was very smitten.

Nevertheless, Erik agreed, and here they are a month later with a beautifully lush apartment and all the time in the world.

And yet here he is now, standing right in the middle of that same beautifully lush apartment, holding the bottle of good wine, and the bag of pork barbeque dumplings staring at a forlorn blond child who seems to be equally confused with him.

Erik frowns, which is considered to be much more forgiving than his shark-like grin, “Who the hell are you?”

Of course, the only way to ruin the mood is when the child pouts and starts to cry, silently—which only made him feel much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to me! I just finished my Probabilities and Hypothesis 1 exam today and I just couldn't stop myself from continuing the second chapter. Thank you for your kind comments for the first chapter, I hope you equally enjoyed this second one. Erik was a real pain in the ass to write, Raven as well, but Erik was really emotionally constipated (no offense to Charles). 
> 
> The lines Charles spoke are from Pablo Neruda's _On the Blue Shore of Silence_ and the poem is entitled, _The Sea_. 
> 
> Tim Ho Wan is an actual Michelin star restaurant and it is the cheapest Michelin star restaurant in the world. We actually ate there before, their buns are to die for. Even with a college student's allowance, you can still buy from there.
> 
> Chapter title is from _Satisfied_ , yet another classic from **Hamilton**.
> 
> I enjoyed writing this chapter, a bit more complex than the first. Again, it is unedited and I did this on rush so I can start writing the third chapter (which will be posted Sunday or Monday).


	3. Love doesn't Discriminate between Sinners & Saints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles could not have handled the situation anymore delicately. They are no longer children, after all.

“Hush now, Alex,” Charles gently gathers Alex in his arms, the poor boy still blaring _distress_ and _confusion_ and _scary_ all in one. The older man suppressing the headache that is already coming his way.

His whimpers slowly die down, turning into soft mewls as he buries his face into the crook of Charles’ neck, breathing in his scent. “It’s all right darling, no need to be afraid, I’m here now. Shhh, _shhh…”_

Of course, the benefits of being a telepath is the ability to influence other’s thoughts; safely transmitting them waves of reassurance and comfort. It is completely useful especially in the presence of young children; it is the very main reason as to why children were drawn to him in the first place. Adults, however, were much harder to persuade, especially when some have great, big walls that block out his empathy.

An example would be Erik, of course pertaining to this very moment.

“ _What_ the hell is going on, Charles?” His frown deepens, “Why do you have a child with you? Where did— _How?_ Where did you even _get him_?”

Charles only replies with a nervous laugh, “Well it _was_ bath time, and Raven got him this cute, little rubber sharky that he wanted to float over the tub, and I told him to fetch it in one of the bags…”

Erik does not return the smile that his husband throws his way.

“You’re not putting up with this are you?”

 _“No._ Not at all.”

“But Erik he’s just a _child—_ ”

“ _That—_ ” he begins quite viciously, “—does not make this okay, _Charles._ What were you planning to do with him? Bring him here? _Adopt_ him?”

Alex, in the younger man’s arms, whimpers as if sensing the anger-filled tension that Erik is projecting all over the place, “Where was he supposed to go Erik? I couldn’t just _leave_ him in the cold out there! He’s only a baby!”

“A baby? A _baby?_ That is exactly what the problem is, Charles! Do you realize how _difficult_ it is to raise a child? There’s paperwork, and courtroom dates—not to mention healthcare and college funds! That’s what _a baby_ brings!”

Charles could only gape at him “You—you are… You are so _selfish!_ Erik, you can’t help but put yourself first, all the time!”

“ _Excuse me?_ I’m not the one who bought a fucking _child_ home in the first place—” Shouting and Erik’s powers did not bode well; the metals in the room starts to shake, the copper lining of the stair railing starts to lift itself from its position.

“Don’t curse in front him!” Charles yells, though not as loudly and as calmly as Erik, “And yes! You are selfish! I found this child at the back of a café, Erik! His parents abandoned him, he has no home to go to! And you’re here, thinking about the money that we have to spend for him—”

“Of course, it’s about the money!”

“ _It’s not about the money!_ You and I both know that!” Charles starts to breathe heavily, his grip on the child in his arms starts to tighten. “You always try to make it about yourself—you don’t even bother to listen to what I was trying to say!”

“ _Me? What?!_ I try to make about _myself?_ Please, Charles, if anyone is selfish around here, it’s you!”

Charles could only gawk, disbelieving that Erik’s words could hurt this much. _“Me?”_

“Yes you, Charles!” Erik pauses to place three fingers in between in brows, as if squeezing out the headache that’s about to happen. “Did you even bother asking me if I wanted a child? Did you even _think_ about what _my opinion_ must be in this issue?”

“I—”

“ _No!_ No you didn’t! You only decided _on your own!_ You didn’t even bother asking about whether I cared or not!” Erik pauses to inhale and exhale, “Do you even _care_ about what I have to say, Charles?”

“Wha—Of course, I care about what you say, Erik!” The younger man’s heart starts to constrict and his eyes start to fog up with tears, “I listen to you, _always_! I never deny you anything—but how dare you assume that I never listen when it’s _you_ who fail to listen to me!”

“Oh no, don’t— _don’t_ even try to make this about _you,_ Charles!”

“I am not! It’s never about _me,_ I was only thinking about you when I took Alex home! It’s the very reason I wanted to take him here!”

Erik scoffs, “What could you _possibly_ see in a child that reminds you of _me?”_

“ _Because I know you!_ I know, you know how it feels like to be abandoned—walking around in a city you’re unfamiliar with! You know how it feels like to have no home, to have no one to care for you! You know what it’s like to be hungry, to be _starving_ for days on end! _You know this,_ and there’s so much good in that you that won’t deny a child that has the same predicament as _you_ had!”

Erik could only look at him in shock, his face in utter disbelief. The metal around him starts to shake violently as his mind races a thousand miles per minute and before Charles could say anything, his powers starts to weaken, and the quiet metal starts to eerily creep into the tension of the air.

“Erik, I—” Erik couldn’t look at him, and Charles gulps, “I… I-I’m going to give Alex a bath.”

When Charles hurries upstairs to fulfill the promise to give Alex a soak, he could only hear the slam of the door, a slew of German curse words, and the accusing tone of the metal surrounding him.

-

Erik is no longer a child.

He’s often told by his mother that due to his powerful abilities, he tends to lose control. He thinks irrationally, frequently failing to keep his anger in check and thus, storming out in outrage and fury, losing him calm and imposing presence. His mother tells him that this is a dangerous trait, especially since his powers and his emotions coexist with each other.

This is hardly the first of his and Charles’ arguments.

For one thing, it’s much more different now. There was lesser yelling, not much a headache projected by Charles, and the apartment metal still seems to be intact. During the first few years of their relationship, it was never the smoothest of rides. They were university students—unreasonable, free-willing, and intense _._ Their energy and spirit did more than just yelling; it was slammed doors every other night, long walks across campus, bent metal and pounding headaches, and angry, heated make-up sex.

He knew though, however, that Charles would always be the man he would come back to every time. Despite both of their shortcomings, they never really did tire of each other.

Yet, Erik never really realized how different it would be when they first moved together—when they first had their own jobs, when they paid rents and groceries, all that mundane adult stuff. Charles, though kind-hearted and loving, tended to be _spoiled,_ not in a sense that he always got what he wanted (with Erik, he always did anyway) but in a way, his word was final, and what he wanted is done.

Erik had always been the one to compromise; he grew up having a hard life. His mother broke her back several times to give Erik the life he needed; the education that he desperately wanted. Aside from his unusual gift, moving from country to country and state to state, did not give him the luxury of having a friend to speak with, or another mind he could share everything with. His compromise was to learn independence, to learn how to seek loyalty within himself—only finding companionship with his mother, and the very metal that surrounds him.

Things changed when Dr. Klaus Schmidt came to his life. He was appreciated, almost _loved._ Dr. Schmidt saw his mutation as a gift rather than an alien entity. He remembers slurred words by the man; _taking care of your mother,_ and _promise to bring out the best in you,_ and _people will love **us.**_

Erik had believed him, wholeheartedly—giving his trust and faith and hope when it all went to burn from there.

_The academy._

It was a beautiful building, right in the outskirts of Poland; lain out with gothic structures and towers the height of Catholic cathedrals. It was hundreds of acres of land, with trees that looped around the main building, grass freshly cut and trimmed to perfection, and the very _palace_ laid right in the middle. He felt very much at home; the building rich with metallic structures and heavy bricks decorated the outside. He remembers a dream of a beautiful castle, with a Black King that stands in the steps of it, looking at him with pride.

After that it was no longer a dream—it was a never-ending stretch of a nightmare. Every night there was a child that screamed; there was a girl that sobbed until her throat clenches, a boy that kicks and screeches until the guards hosed him down—there was far _too much metal, too much vibration of copper on his bed, and alloy around his wrists, and iron burning in his mouth._

Erik had never hated his gift so much until he ran away.

Three years with no words from his mother, three years without contact from any human being outside that gold-rusted _palace._ Subsequently after he had run, he starved for two years; _abandoned_ and _misplaced_ jumped from foster home to foster home, picked up by state officials and then thrown back into strangers.

Everything that happened after that was a blur. Somehow, he had crawled his way back into his mother’s home. He remembers shaking and terror and hot tears on face, her arms coming around his fragile body in aching comfort, like a blanket on a cold day. Her voice quivered when she spoke to him, her hands giving him assurances of comfort. Sometimes he would have nightmares, the Black King and his dying children— _too much metal—_ and he would wake in his mother’s arms again, her grip on her child tightening. She softly sings German lullabies and poems, whispers Jewish prayers to her son, and her arms just clutched him solid, as if wanting all his pain and anguish and _anger_ to transfer to her.

Erik sighs, as he brings himself back to the bench, to the present. The metal structure in the middle of the park is deformed now, no longer a woman dancing instead it’s a mass heap of metal, pointing in all directions, mimicking an explosion of some sort. He doesn’t bother fixing it.

He’s not good at fixing anyway; when he can’t fix himself, why bother at making things better for others?

He breathes out a hefty exhale, a puff of cold smoke coming out of his mouth. He recalls Charles’ words earlier, it attaches to the back of his head like hot iron casting pressing itself on a dull surface.

_“Because I know **you**!” _

Charles knows him too well, to be truthful. He knows that Erik is cold, vicious, full of anguish and hate; he knows that Erik has had a dark past and a heavy burden on his shoulders, and it speaks to him every time the electromagnetic fields move under his fingers.

He's brash, and cruel, too much of a terrible person to ever be _good._ What makes him qualified to ever take in a _child?_ A child so young, and so pure, the very core of innocence in a person’s lifetime; a child so very new to the world, so fragile and helpless.

Erik almost forgets what it was like being a child, after everything.

_“I know there’s **good** in that you that won’t deny a child that has the same predicament as you had!”_

He looks towards the silence of the park, not a living being in sight, only the sound of complete and utter stillness. The affinity of metal still vibrates around him, calm and composed just like himself, but still resonating chaos like his thoughts.

There is too much going on in his head, but he decides he needs to fix a few things (including the scrap metal that sits gloomily in the middle of the park). He stands and he turns his heel, his back facing the snowy meadow of the plaza.

Before he heads home, he makes a detour first.

-

Earlier when he places a hesitant Alex in the bath, entertaining him with the rubber shark toy and blowing him scented bubbles, Charles contemplates what comes after this night.

The last thing he wants to do to Alex is to leave him in the wrong hands. He cannot just happily hand him over to another pair of hands—not when there’s a possibility of Alex being a mutant. He knows how hard it is to be alone in this world, to long for the companionship of a parent. It scares him too much to know.

Alex’s shriek of delight cuts of his lengthy thoughts. Charles brings him out of the bathtub and wraps him in a fluffy blue towel, almost the same shade as his old and tattered blanket. He giggles when Charles blows a loud raspberry on his cheek, the laughter going straight to the older man’s heart.

_How could Erik ever deny you?_

Charles’ heart constricts as he thinks of the argument he and his husband had, tears threatening to fall.

He dries the blonde’s soft and golden locks, patting the towel over his head and then moving it downwards towards the rest of his body, engulfing the small boy into the very large cloth. Charles never realized how thin Alex is.

He carries Alex out of the bathroom and into the guest bedroom—without the blessing of Erik, Charles couldn’t call it _Alex’s_ room, at least not yet. Raven, however, was eager to design a toddler’s room and had decidedly decorated it, little by little.

The bland, wooden bookshelves have been filled with numerous children’s books, _Goodnight Moon_ and _Winnie the Pooh_ are proudly displayed right next to the wide windows. On top of the bed, a large comforter blanket splayed under a handful of animal pillows, a lone bedside table with a quirky plant and a black metal lamp watches over the sleeping area. The gray, plain walls are now decorated with a picture of a bright blue bird, and a fish that hangs upside down; the toys that Raven gift him are sitting quietly on a mocha-colored, rectangular rug. A sprinkling of fairly lights floats over the corner of the room, just beneath the bed.

He settles Alex on the carpet, letting him play with the toys while he looks for a pair of pajamas and a dressing gown to match with it. The bottle with baby formula perches on top of a white table next to a bag of diapers, facing the bed.

He dresses Alex, occasionally giving him a light nuzzle on the nose when Alex complies, and then tucks him into the blue robe with silly images of sharks drawn on it (Charles begins to sense a pattern here). He lifts him off the rug and wraps him under the large comforter of the bed, stroking his hair and giving him a kiss here and there.

“Mmpf,” Alex looks up Charles and gives him a curious look, as if asking him if he’s feeling well. Charles gives him a watery smile and two soft pecks on the cheek, projecting a soft, _I’m fine._

Alex almost doesn’t believe him, “Mmmm…” He frowns, but Charles laughs.

“You’re almost as protective as Erik, aren’t you?” When the professor receives no answer, he grabs a book from the shelf, _The Snowy Day,_ and begins to read. Alex falls into a deep slumber after three pages. Charles tucks himself into bed, and forgets to dry his tears before he sleeps.

-

Erik arrives a few minutes before ten, the apartment even more tranquil than the outside. He stares at the forgotten bottle of wine, the empty box of pork dumplings, and the half-eaten container of egg white spring rolls. He makes his way upstairs, the light paper bag feels oddly heavy in his hand, and enters the second bedroom.

There was faint light illuminating the small room, generated by the fairy lights that dangle at the edge of the room. The glow produced by the drooping fairy lights illuminate only the center of the room; the bed where Alex lay, his face in a peaceful slumber and his breathing in an even, slow pattern.

Erik kneels by the side of his bed, he notices the lack of metal in Alex’s pajamas. He brings a hand to the face of the toddler, brushing away the stray bangs that stubbornly cover his eyes. Every now and then, the older man slides a finger down the younger one’s nose, his face scrunching up a frown every time he feels a movement. Erik studies his face for what feels like forever; the shape of his pouty lips, the roundness of his plump cheeks, the slant of his eyebrows.

The metal bender runs a hand over the soft head of golden hair, “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Expecting no answer from him, he continues. “You should know, that I’m a terrible person.”

“I’ve no experience being a father, I mean—I don’t even _remember_ my own father. But I do know a few things about being a young boy; lost and afraid, all those things. I know a thing or two about—” Erik chokes, “— _being alone_.”

He lingers his left hand on the boy’s head, the other still grasping the paper bag. “And I don’t want that for anyone—I don’t want that for _you._ ”

“You seem to be a good kid, I trust that. Charles has a way with children, I suspect it’s his telepathy, so I’m glad he found you.” He smiles softly, “And if he wants to adopt you… That’s fine. It’s fine. I just—I need you to be patient with me. I have problems, _Charles_ has problems… You probably will too. And that’s fine. We’ll be here, with you. We’ll be good parents, we’ll try.”

Alex starts to whimper in his sleep, eyes threatening to open any minute now.

Erik remains speaking, “My father wasn’t around… I— _I_ swear that I’ll be around for you.”

Just like that, when the older man chokes on his last words, the toddler’s eyes open. Erik doesn’t look at him when he wakes, but he stops speaking. Alex looks at him curiously, his gaze never leaving Erik’s face.

“Mmmpf!” Alex’s small hands grab his face, two small palms landing on each cheek. With all the strength of a small boy, he turns his face to look at him. Erik looks into the eyes oddly similar to his own; baby grey-blue eyes staring right into the same steely grey-blue. Suddenly, Erik understand why Charles desperately wanted to keep Alex.

Charles did not see an abandoned child or a lost toddler, he saw an innocent soul, so pure and so real, that needed saving.

 “Hi,” Erik croaks out, and the toddler giggles sleepily. He’s sitting up now, his face levelled with Erik’s stare, still studying the odd stranger in front of him.

“I—I’m…” _I’m sorry I yelled, I’m going to take care of you, I’m going to be here for you,_ “I’m Erik.”

Gently, Erik smiles, trying not to show any of his teeth. Finally, his burden lifts from off his shoulders when Alex smiles back. He lifts the hand holding the paper bag and he brings out a fuzzy item, big and brown and hands it over to Alex.

The bear (actually bigger in Alex arms, almost the size of his upper body) is designed to wear a blue button up and cardigan, its’ petite buttons made from lightweight metal, a handiwork made by Erik himself. He made it in a such a way to be able to feel Alex’s presence whenever he wasn’t around, knowing that the boy would be carrying the bear everywhere he went.

Alex absolutely adored the soft plush toy, forming an attachment with it instantly. He lifted it up, and twirled it around, raising its’ furry paws up and nuzzling the hefty belly. He turned to Erik and gave his cheek a nose bump—Alex was not yet familiar with the idea of kisses, and this was the closest he could give.

Erik, to his own surprise, laughs and grabs the boy by his narrow waist, nuzzling the sweet scent of baby shampoo and the smell of new bedsheets. He cradles the toddler and stands to walk by the window, resting Alex’s head on crook of his neck, the teddy bear securely attaching itself on the younger boy’s torso.

The older man sways slightly, ever so gently rubbing his hand on Alex’s back. He thinks of his mother, and her German lullabies; he thinks of the father he’s never met, the man that his mother loved with all her heart; he thinks of _Schmidt_ and all those other children trapped in that sickening palace, young and old lost souls still searching for serenity.

He thinks of Charles, and what Erik ever did to deserve such a man.

He recites old nursery rhymes his mother used to read to him at night, and he softly sings a lullaby he used to hear after he found his mother, after Schmidt. Erik decides, he could get used to this.

Erik did not mind the time, as he found time spent with Alex nodding off to sleep more priceless than his own slumber.

-

When Charles senses Erik’s metallic mind, he sits upright; a finicky part in the back of his conscious scolds him for not locking behind the door of Alex room. Of course, Charles argues that he knows Erik very well to understand that the older man would never hurt a child.

Still, Charles cannot help but feel faint.

Erik always has his good intentions at heart; Charles knows this, and he knows Erik quite well. After all, he has known this man for almost ten years. He can’t deny the fact that Erik has been through most of his life carrying a dark past, hauling a heavy burden that Schmidt inflicted upon him. No child should ever go through that in any lifetime.

But Erik, with all his dark enigma and cold stare, has a heart as pure as gold. It is what Charles always sees in him; when he smiles for the first sip of coffee, when he stretches his metal powers, when he’s sprawled on top of him during sex, when he rests his eyes after a long day at work, and when he looks at Charles.

When he looks at Charles, Erik never looked more like a boy than he is a man.

It is no surprise to him now that the presence of Erik in Alex’s room (no longer a guestroom, he presumes) can only fill the thoughts of _longing, happiness, comfort, forgiveness, laughter—a stuffed animal in the shape of a bear, the metallic touch of Erik when Alex cradles on his chest—dreams of a boy, the past of a man._

Charles feigns sleep when Erik finally enters the room, he hears a few movements of clothes being shucked and pillows being fluffed. His husband crawls right next to him, Charles’ back turned away and facing the window. The older man wraps a long arm around his petite frame and mumbles sleepily.

“I’m sorry—I seem to be saying that a lot this evening,”

Charles hums, “And?”

“And… Alex doesn’t seem to be too bad, we can keep him, I guess.” Erik pretends to act nonchalant about the situation, but Charles’ heart warms when he can obviously feel the emanating thoughts of _love, love, love._

_“And?”_

“And…” Erik sighs, sleep almost overtaking him, “I hope you forgive me, what I said was cruel and unnecessary. The last thing I wanted to do… the last thing I wanted Alex to feel was to make him believe that he wasn’t welcome here. And I know that wasn’t fair of me to say,”

“Mhmm,” Charles agrees, “I forgave you already, my love.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” _I always will,_ Charles grips the hands encircling his waist and tightens his hold, “I was hoping you’d say that you’ll be the one filing his adoption papers. So much work, you know,”

Erik’s soft, peal of laughter was the last sound in the room before they drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I'm late! I apologize, but not to worry - this chapter is significantly longer than the other two. This had so much angst in it, a bit more different than the other two. I hope you enjoyed this one, I particularly had a hard time writing it since it need a lot of emotions and all that. Erik really is a pain to write.
> 
> Chapter title comes from _Wait for It_ , another song from _Hamilton_.
> 
> Here is the link for [Alex's room](http://www.thebooandtheboy.com/2016/11/kids-rooms-on-instagram_28.html), it's the ninth picture out of the twelve. I adored it so much, it just screams _cute_. 
> 
> Leave a kudos, and I'll leave you some lovin'!


	4. We'll Pass it On to You, We'll Give the World to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The odd family bonds - but in the best way possible. Alex seems to favor Erik a bit more however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late. I'm probably more than a month late and all excuses aside, I did try to make this chapter special (note the word _try_ ). I made it on a quiet, Sunday afternoon and I probably checked it three times before I posted. I hope you enjoy it!

Breakfast, for one good reason, is best whatever time of the day; a sign that the sun is still upright and good things are on their way to being better.

Erik firmly believes a good breakfast, means a good day ahead.

Unusually, though it is no surprise, Erik is already up by a quarter to seven. The sizzling smell of bacon—he was Jewish, but his mother did not need to know his sins—and the line of silver dollar pancakes on the griddle form a picturesque image of a very lovely morning. The pot of coffee sits comfortably in the corner of their humble kitchen island, and a mug of hot coffee is cradled on his right hand while he flips the miniature pancakes.

This feels oddly domestic, Erik comments to himself.

Right before he finishes the last batch of the pancakes, he senses a tinkle of very light metal just walking down the stairs. His fingers deftly feel the electromagnetic pulse of a small body holding another equally small but fuzzy body making its way to the kitchen. A blond head of hair pops up from the side of the breakfast nook, trying to climb one of the tall, wooden chairs.

Gingerly, with very little effort, Erik plops down the mug next to the stove top and moves his right hand upwards, using the metal buttons of the bear as his source of energy to lift Alex in the air. The magnetic waves throb through his sense as he keeps the toddler suspended in the air before gently settling him on the tall chairs stacked with books.

Alex, never the one to deny a free ride, is ecstatic. He laughs heartedly, his hands clapping together as if encouraging Erik to raise him up again. The older man chuckles softly, gathering five pieces of the silver dollar pancakes and two hot bacon slices on a plate, drizzling a generous amount of maple syrup on top (young boys do love their sugar), and then places the plate in front of Alex.

“I’d rather not try that again, _bärchen,”_ The tip of Erik’s nose brushes on top of Alex’s hair, “Charles will have a heart attack, and that is not a pretty sight.”

Alex giggles when he hears Charles’ name, “Arlsss…”

“Mhmm, _Charles,_ ” Erik turns his back towards the stove top, stacking more of the pancakes and bacon onto two more plates, while simultaneously controlling the knife to cut up small pieces of the pancake and using the fork to feed Alex the small bites.

Alex continues to babble on after, baby talk here and there in between the bites of pancakes and bacon, and Erik affectionately responding to his nonsense words.

“Ma!” Erik perks up, _well that seems to be a new word._

“And to whom are you pertaining to, _bärchen?_ ” Alex, of course, did not understand what Erik asks of him and continues to mumble on and on about “ _Ma!”_

After a while, when Alex finishes his breakfast and his interest goes from Erik to the large teddy bear sitting patiently by his side, Charles walks down from the stairs freshly pressed and ready for the day, Erik notices his lack of _professor clothing_ —as Raven blatantly puts it out. He offers a bright smile to the two boys in his kitchen, a platter resting warmly next to Alex’s seat on the breakfast nook.

“Good morning, liebling,”

Charles agrees wholeheartedly, pressing a chaste kiss on Alex’s bedridden hair and a longing one on Erik’s lips, tasting of coffee and maple syrup. “It really is,”

Erik remarks the domesticity of the morning routines they had before, but none of them comparing to the warm atmosphere of today’s mourning routine. Alex’s quiet muttering and his sweet laughter whenever Charles’ absently tickles his fingers around his waist, his husband silently going through the morning news while sipping a gulp full of coffee or a mouth filled with pancakes, red lips lusciously licking the drip of maple syrup; and Erik watches on, his heart warms with content.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Charles smiles, smug.

Erik snorts, “You already have them,”

The telepath laughs, only ignoring Erik’s jab at sarcasm, “It is nice to hear you talk, apparently, Alex loves your voice.”

Erik looks at Alex expectedly, only to see Alex poking Charles’ clothed arm with the snout of the bear. “Nothing more than the surface thoughts,” he replies to Charles.

“Hmmm,” Charles drinks the last drop of coffee from his mug, “Alright then. Are you to head on out to work after this?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Oh no,” one of Erik’s eyebrows raise up, “I asked Darwin to cancel my classes for today and tomorrow, the lecture on Saturday counts as an alternative class.”

Charles pauses slightly, the mood tensing up a bit. “I called up Social Services as well, they need to evaluate the situation at hand.”

“Are we pressing charges?”

“No,” Charles says sternly, “We don’t even know who his real parents are. But then—we’ll have to pull up his records and find a lawyer for the adoption process anyway,”

Erik hums thoughtfully, “I’ll ask Frost then, she’d probably be willing to take this on,”

“Darling, you and Emma didn’t particularly part in good terms last time,”

The older man scoffs, “This isn’t for me, this is for— ” Erik pauses to look at Alex, the last of the word dies down on his lips. Charles smiles at him softly; _it seems as if he’s not the only one that’s smitten,_ Charles remarks.

“I know, I know. But love, will you please be a bit _kinder_ to her? I wouldn’t want you to come home with a very bad headache,” Charles assures him softly, his fingers treading through Alex’s locks, “We wouldn’t want that, right Alex love?”

Alex looks at Charles and smiles in agreement, only to reply a very enthusiastic, “Ma!”

Erik finally understands what all the commotion is about earlier, and Charles just chokes out a disbelieving, “What?”

“Ma! Ma! Ma!” Alex continuously pokes to snout of the large stuffed toy not just on the professor’s arm, but also on his face and torso, “Ma!”

Erik suppresses his laughter, “I think he means you, liebling.” Charles lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh darling,” Charles situates Alex on his lap and places a gentle finger on the younger boy’s lips, “I am flattered, but I prefer to be called male.”

Alex did not understand him, and Charles just resumes, “How about ‘papa’? Can you say that for me, sweetheart?”

The toddler on his lap pouts, Erik laughter fills the air. “Ma.”

“Pa-pa.” Charles presses on the repeated syllables, “ _Pa-pa.”_

Charles smiles at him warmly, “It’s not that hard! Right, Erik?”

Alex looks even more confused, if it were any possible. He looks up to Erik for any reassurance, and Erik, being the good sport that he is, decides to play along.

“That’s right, bärchen.” He starts off slowly, “Papa,” and he points to himself, “ _Mama,”_ and then to Charles.

_“Erik!”_

-

Charles had never been this relaxed in a very long time. Having a ray of sunshine in their quiet abode gives him a sense of peace, something that rarely comes to him in stressful times. Alex is their ray of sunshine; smiling and happy, though sometimes destructive during baths, he really is an epitome of a blooming baby boy.

That is until when Miss Moira MacTaggert from Child Services came to visit, Alex suddenly became more reserved.

Just an hour after Erik had left the apartment (much to Alex’s dismay), the toddler was on the maroon carpet merrily playing with his giant teddy bear and the row of toy cars that Raven gifted him yesterday. From time to time, while Charles checked the news and his students’ papers, he would occasionally make a sound of what seems to be intelligent babble.

When Miss Moira walked through the door, wearing what seems to be her office uniform and her most hard-nosed face, Alex seemed to cower under her presence.

“Good morning Dr. Xavier, I’m Moira MacTaggert from Social Services,” she shakes his hand firmly, gracing him with a warm smile. “We received your call yesterday afternoon regarding an abandoned child?”

“Ah yes, pleasure to meet you Miss MacTaggert, please call me Charles,” he offers her a seat on one of the leather couches, and Alex quickly runs to his side, abandoning his bear and row of toys. “This is Alex, I found him in an alleyway between a café and a rundown building.”

Moira nods and turns to Alex, giving him a small smile, “Hello Alex.”

Alex waves his hand shyly, burying his face in Charles’ trousers. Charles picks up the wave of distress emanating from the young boy’s mind, sprouting colors of red all over. The older man raises Alex to his lap and rests his small head on the crook of his left shoulder, gently caressing his scalp for comfort.

“I’m sorry, he’s not very good with—” _Authority?_ He pauses as the thought drifts through his mind. “—Strangers.”

The woman hums thoughtfully, “He seems to be very good with you, however.”

“Well, I am a telepath,” he answers back warmly, “It’s in my nature to be quite skilled with people,”

Moira picks up the information fairly quickly, “And you found out about him through his thoughts?”

“Well, he’s very young so he doesn’t really think in thoughts—not yet anyway,” he explains, his face serious, “I did pick up bits and pieces of his memories, very vague ones at that. His most recent one was running away from an apartment that his parents had left him in.”

“Kindly elaborate on that,” She brings out a pen and a wad of pad paper and started taking down notes.

“To be honest with you, I could only string so much information before I could start delving in deeper in his memories, the human mind is very complex,” Moira nods in understanding, “But anyway, based on what I saw, a week or so his parents had left him in their rundown apartment.”

“How can you assume that?”

Charles frowns slightly, “In his memories, he remembers waking up to no parents and no food for several days. Of course, an assumption would be is that they had left him alone. If they were planning to come back they’d have someone look after him, even just for a few hours. But all I see in his memories was an empty house.”

Moira takes in this information as if it were a breath of air, “Do you think there might be a reason as to why his parents left him? Maybe a traumatic event that transpired before they left?”

Charles quickly scans the memories of the child on his lap, but his presence only burns further when he tries to delve in deeper into his thoughts; it was almost as if Alex's conscience is trying to keep him out of that part of his brain. 

"No, I don't think I can go that far. To be fair, children's memories often skew, sometimes they dissolve into the recesses of their mind. I'm afraid I cannot risk doing that to him." 

Moira nods, "Alright then, please do go on."

He clears his throat, “From his memories, I saw several other people; neighbors most likely, policemen, and a few workers from Social Services. I can tell that it frightened him a bit, the amount of people in the house and the nonstop talking. So he ran, no one bothered to look after him, at least that's what I assume.”

“And that’s when you found him at an alleyway?”

“Yes, that’s basically it.”

Moira inhales and gathers her notes in a manila envelope, “What would you like to do with him then?”

Charles tightens his hold on Alex, the toddler whimpers in response.

“Adopt him, of course. I had a lengthy discussion with my husband on that,”

The social services worker sighs, “That’s what I was afraid you’d say, Charles. It’s really not that simple.”

“How so?”

“Well, in order to fully transfer your parental rights to Alex we’d need the consent of his biological parents—if they’re willing to give him up or not. They didn't _officially_ disown him yet,” Moira clarifies, “Plus, we’d have to look at his records, the whereabouts of his real parents. We’d also have to see if he has any living relatives that would be willing to look after him. If all options cancel out, then you could adopt him, but that’s the very last option they can give you.”

Charles’ heart lurches at the idea of being Alex’s last resort.

“I’m really sorry, Charles.” She looks to him sadly, as if she could sense the disappointment that he’s emitting. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you out, but right now, our best interest is giving Alex security and safety.”

 _He’s already safe here._ “Right, no I understand. I’ll have a lawyer ready just in case—Well, just in case of anything.”

“Of course,” Moira smiles kindly, “Our findings might take a while, especially concerning the parents’ whereabouts, and we might have to go through police incident reports about an abandoned child. Do you think you have any idea of where he used to live?”

The professor’s face scrunches up in thought, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t think he might have any solid thoughts on where he used to live specifically.”

Moira pens in that thought, “Right, well he couldn’t have strayed far away from home, I’m sure.”

The two adults continued on with their conversation for another half hour so, discussing about Alex’s stay in Charles’ apartment, and signing a few forms that temporarily states Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr as the foster family and guardians of Alex. The ide of being only a temporary family for Alex makes Charles' heart sting with disappointment. 

“I’d be coming back in a week or so to gather those forms and discuss the reports on what we find on Alex.” She says while Charles escorts her to the door of their apartment, “We’ll try our best to help Alex in whatever form we can, but Charles, please just remember that adopting him will only have a slim chance of happening.”

“I know Miss MacTaggert, I understand the situation at hand,” he tells her assuredly, his face in a kind smile. “But I am willing to fight for him, he deserves better.”

Moira grins, “Of course, I better go now. I have a lot to file in,”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Charles smiles back, his beaming face warm and inviting, “Thank you for this, and thank you for trusting a telepath’s word.”

“It was no problem, Doctor. Have a good day.”

-

Some people like to assume that with Charles Xavier’s massive and endless wealth, he would be spoiled to no end.

They are wrong in all ways because there are two things that counteract that statement. First, his wealth does have an endgame at some point, it may not be now or the near future, but it will not always last. Second, being spoiled does not do him justice—he’s just not very good at basic training skills such as cooking or fixing a broken bulb—he’d rather indulge the people that are very dear to him, rather than coddle himself with flimsy, material things.

Alex is no exception to those people that are very dear to him.

Knowing him for only a day or two, then being passed on as a _temporary_ guardian (and maybe soon enough, _permanent_ ) made him realize how extensive he should be as a role model and as a father-figure. Hence, he found himself and Alex in the middle of a shopping district a few minutes away from his— _their_ humble home.

Charles notes the way the little boy’s eyes and mind light up whenever he found something _new_. He stops his walking to look at lovely dresses and brightly hued suits on mannequins, he pauses to watch people walk their dogs of various sizes, and even looks up to watch the sky the same intensity as his blue eyes. His simple and young mind is a whirlwind of glowing emotions and a breath of fresh air for the older man.

His mind is also quite different when it came to Charles and Erik.

With Erik, Alex’s mind is _happy_ , in a simpler term. A warm, fuzzy buzz of thoughts such as _protect_ and _love_ and _daddy_ wraps around the toddler’s thoughts like cool metal shielding around a warm body. Charles thinks that Erik’s powers fascinate Alex and that has somehow influenced his perception of the stern man.

And with Charles—Alex sees him and he’s content, in a way. Of course, being at around the age of two, toddlers do not think much in sentences and words, just in color and imagery. Charles reminds Alex of a day in spring; bright, floral, _breath of fresh air—_ almost like a loving mother’s perfume. He is an image of old books with colored pictures, a face that calms an endless sea of storms.

Charles notes that whenever Alex thinks of people he adores, his thoughts almost warm up—like a kitten curled in blanket beneath a fireplace. How odd.

“Come on Alex,” he tugs the frail hand gently, “We have a lot to shop for—clothes, diapers, toys, and all that. How do you feel about cardigans?”

The only response he got was a toothless grin and a soft murmur.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” He said as he lifted the lightweight child up in his arms, the toddler giggling enthusiastically, as if agreeing with Charles.

“Ma!”

-

Charles does not know how different baby clothes are from regular adult clothes—he is not even sure if there is any difference at all. Essentially, the only distinction between the two is the size.

Apparently, he is true at some point (however, he notes sadly, adults sizes only concern a few sets of numbers, children’s clothing is a definite whole new world)—but having Alex fit and wear the clothes to see if it fits him well is probably the main reason adults’ clothing is different from toddler’s clothing. Alex is typically a very good child, sweet and innocent, but that boy could go on a rampage after the sugar intake. Perhaps, Charles had decided, they should not have gone to an ice cream parlor that serves fifty different flavors and have Alex try all of them twice. He really is spoiling the child a tiny bit.

They have essentially made it to Osh Kosh without a fuss, trying on shoes and tees, wrestling on coats and trousers, but after one store, Charles is exhausted. After what seemed like an hour (although it was only twenty minutes) and three store clerks later, Charles had decided on finally one [outfit](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1j06eNXXXXXc6XFXXq6xXFXXX0/-font-b-toddler-b-font-font-b-boys-b-font-font-b-cardigan-b-font.jpg).

Of course, one of the store clerks argued that maybe it was too old for his age (whatever that means), but Charles insists that his husband would love the style (he did love Charles after all to a certain extent—cardigans and trousers included).

“What do you think, Alex?” Charles coaxes him by the waist, stroking his chubby baby face, “Do you like the cardigan?”

Alex tilts his head and looks at the mirror on his right, “Mmybee.”

The brunette store clerk holding the coat and shoes chosen by Charles giggles, “That might be the closest yes you can get, sir.”

Charles sighs and smiles tiredly, “I’ll take it then. Now come on Alex, a few more stops and we’ll head on over to Erik.”

At the mention of Erik’s name, Alex bounces like a toy ball set free, “Yes! Yes! _Yesyesyesyes!_ ” He runs to the changing rooms and starts to throw his clothes off in all directions. Charles quickly runs to his active foster child and calms him down before he starts to run around naked in the store.

 _Not even my official child and yet there is already blatant favoritism,_ Charles thinks sourly. He gently grasps the child’s small hand and leads him to the counter where the store clerks started to pack pile of clothing that he may or may not have panic-chosen impulsively—including the “professor” outfit that he calls in his head.

Once the clothes have been paid for and the clothes packed into four heavy paper bags, Alex is nowhere to be found.

Charles did panic, his head a string of thoughts of whatever situation could happen to Alex, and then calms himself, nearly forgetting that he is a telepath. _Good Lord, is this how fatherhood is like?_ He closes his eyes to concentrate, the two signature fingers is on the side of his temple, and he starts to search for the mind of a child he’s so familiar with.

 _Alex!_ He thinks telepathically and he is instantly bombarded with the thoughts of Alex— _scared_ and _lonely_ and _terrified_ and _confused_ and—

 _Don’t worry, darling, I’m coming, don’t move,_ Charles sends to him telepathically, gently delivering a wave of _calm_ to the young toddler before he looks to his perception, _I’m coming Alex, just wait there, it’s going to be alright, I’m coming._

Charles heart starts to pound against his chest, fortunately Alex did not go too far; two stores down to his left and right in front of the children’s section in Lands End.

“Alex!”

The toddler dashes through the bustle of people entering the store to jump up into Charles widespread arms, he starts to sob uncontrollably. The professor holds him close, carefully whispering words of comfort, his hand rubbing up and down on Alex’s small back.

“Please don’t do that again, you don’t have to run away from me—I’ll always come back to you.” Charles murmurs to him, and Alex’s hold on him tightens, almost a familiar feeling. “Now, now, that’s enough tears. What in the world made you want to go here?”

Alex wipes the tears with the back of his hand and looks to the racks in the children’s section. “Ereck.”

Charles blinks twice, “What’s that? _Erik?_ ”

The toddler slides down from the older man’s body, pulls his slightly larger hand towards the rack of sweaters. Charles laughs lightly as he takes a closer look to one of the sweaters that his foster son had chosen. He looks for Alex’s size in the row of sweaters and lifts a black one from the racks. The professor looks to Alex and sees a pleading look in the toddler’s eyes, almost begging him to purchase it.

“Don’t worry darling, you’ve made a good choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know the first outfit wasn’t from Osh Kosh, sue me. It was a cute outfit—reminds me of something Charles would willingly wear as a child. And yes, I know that the geography of Osh Kosh and Lands End is confusing (I’m confused myself) but I decided to do it conveniently and place them near each other.
> 
> The first two sentences of the chapter are rephrased from a quote by Jonathan Goldstein in his novel, Lenny Bruce is Dead. The quote is as follows, _“Everyone runs around trying to find a place where they still serve breakfast because eating breakfast, even if it's 5 o'clock in the afternoon, is a sign that the day has just begun and good things can still happen. Having lunch is like throwing in the towel.”_
> 
> By the way, I have no idea how Child Services works. I did a bit of research, but it gets a bit harder when you try to google, “how to adopt an child you found on the streets”. I’m so sorry for any technical errors errors!
> 
> Chapter title is from _Dear Theodosia_ from the play, _Hamilton_. I'm officially Hamiltrash you guys.
> 
> I'll try to update before the last week of February, right after my midterms. Thank you for all the lovin'!


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